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I sit at the bar trying to forget all that has happened. In the past week, it has become my safe haven ever since... I can't even stomach to say it. However, like every other night I stay in this dismal setting, I find myself not consuming alcohol. I always buy it, yet I never do partake in it.

I look around the bar to find the same scenery: the usual drunken laughter, the raunchy lovers, and the beginning banter of a fight.

I sigh. It is all the same except for this one particular chap. It is disconcerting to see him. He is like me– utterly sober. He is tucked away in a shadowy corner. It is as though he doesn't want to be spotted, yet he ironically stands out.

He is eyeing the bar with caution. Is he expecting someone? He picks up his bottle, looks at it, and then puts it down on the table.

A blonde woman stumbles her way to him. She is giggling and evidently hit the bottle quite hard. He scoots down the booth and lets her clamber in with him. He immediately nuzzles his head into her neck, and she laughs in drunken splendour.

I eye him in disgust. One should never take a girl who is so vulnerable. It is outrageous to watch him indulge.

I turn away from him and look at all of the bottles that are lined behind the bar. I am always impressed at how the bartender knows each one.

I look back at him, wondering if he has come to his senses. No. He is still engorging himself. He pulls back, though, and immediately looks at me in disgust as though I had ruined such an intimate moment. The bar was no place to be intimate.

The girl whispers something in his ear, and he pushes her away. How could he disrespectful to this girl? Could she mean so little to him?

He continues to push his way so he can get out of the booth. His eyes are set for me, and I already feel the beginnings of a fight pulse through him. For what, though? Because I watched him?

He walks over to the bar, and although I am ready for a punch, he instead sits himself across from me and asks for another beer. He turns his head away from me so all I could see is a mass of black hair.

“What would a married man be doing in a bar?” he asks, anger rising in his voice.

“And why should you care?” I retort, anger also rising in my voice.

“Then why were you bothering to look at me?” He drinks from the bottle. Alcohol in his system could be a sticky predicament.

“How could you take a girl that is vulnerable?”

He laughs bitterly. “Are you going to condemn me and rant about moral values? I would not advise it good sir. You sit at the bar, abandoning a wife and most likely kids, for leisure. So why would it matter if I take a girl tonight?”

“How dare you…” I growl.

“Or is it because the full moon approaches? You fear for their safety?”

“You all smell the same,” he replies bitterly. “So instead of taking it out on your family, you will take it out on the bar? What high moral values!” He spreads his arms out and displays the entire bar to me. “These are your victims. How beautiful,” he silently mocks, his mouth barely moving. He then swiftly moves to look at his victim.

“Marsha!” he barks, and she quickly comes to his side. He drags her by the arm, leading her out of the bar. He laughs full heartily, bitterly. He looks directly at me as he laughed. “What poor unfortunate soul!” he proclaims.

I try not to gap, but I fail. I see those white fangs glint in the dim light, and as I look at Marsha, I see two neat puncture wounds and blood seeping down her neck.

I'm closing this thread now. Thank you to everyone who has entered and I am looking forward to reading your drabbles. This week's challenge will be posted later on today and the results will be posted in a couple of days.

The clouds had closed in overhead, dousing the streets of Diagon Alley with a horrible drizzle of rain that did little to break the mounting tension in the air. Everyone hurried to and fro, their cloaks wrapped tightly around their bodies, and too concerned with their own well being to notice others.The sun had decided to take a vacation, and nobody wished to spend money or stay outside in such humidity for a second longer than they needed to.

Neville Longbottom was stood on the porch of Flourish and Blotts, where he had just spent the past hour negotiating a discount price for all his first-year Herbology students. Taking a moment to privately congratule himself on this small victory, he was vaguely aware of footsteps scurrying across the street. When he lifted his eyes, he was arrested by the bright colour of a young woman's summer dress. She'd clearly not thought her outfitthrough, as so many careless girls didn't on summer mornings; by the way she allowed the hem to fly up above her knees, Neville deduced that she hadn't been taught a proper lesson in modesty.

The young woman turned sharply on her heel, her unruly hair flashing across the grey backdrop like a flame surrounded by smoke. The look on her face was one of gleeful surprise. Her eyes darted from the cauldrons hung in the entrance of the apocathepy to the wands that sat in their open cases in Ollivander's window. She let out a girlish shreik when an owl swooped over her head, and she was too absorbed in her surroundings to notice the mud stains that were creeping up her bare legs. Witches her age didn't look upon Diagon Alley with such fresh enthusiasm, especially on such a grim day; Neville decided that she had to be a Muggle.

Then her eyes met his, and her face coloured a little with embaressment. But it was a flirty embaressment, if anything, and it soon faded. She walked up to him with spirit in her stride and a dazzling grin on her face.

"Do you know where I can find Gringoats?" she asked.

Neville furrowed his brow, unsure whether to tell this Muggle about one of the most important Wizarding banks in the world. If she didn't know how to pronounce its name, she'd clearly not been told much about it. Her warm smile weakened his resolve, though, until he finally murmured, "It's over there."

"Over where?" she asked, turning her head sharply in the direction she had just come from.

Neville felt a pang of heartache; her curious but spacey expression reminded him of Luna. How could he have accused her of being immodest, when Luna would have worn exactly the same dress on a sultry day?

"Why are you here, if you don't mind my asking?" he asked nervously.

The young woman gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm just exploring the place, that is all."

Neville knew he should have warned her against stepping into this strange new world with too much curiosity, and that he really should have reported her to a Ministry official, but instead he allowed her the indulgence.

"My name is Neville," he said.

The woman was in a deep reverie, however, as her eyes flitted between each and every detail of her surroundings. After a while, she jerked her head back towards him and replied, "I'm Niamh, pleased to meet you."

"Pretty name," he replied, holding out his hand for her to shake.

But she was already wandering down the street. On the verge of pointing out that she was walking in the wrong direction, he decided instead to let her be. She clearly wished to discover everything on her own.

The Character Gymnasium: Confrontation

Welcome to:

Week Two: Confrontation

Every Original Character runs into some type of conflict with another character at some point during the story, even if it is only over a small matter. This week I want you to examine the way that your OC would handle a confrontation. Do they get easily angry, or do they bite their tongue and avoid an argument at all costs? Once again, I'm leaving this challenge open so that you can pick the scenario and characters, so long as it involves at least one OC and is set in the Potterverse. There must be either an argument or disagreement of sorts, whether it be about a big issue or something small, and you must explore the way your OC feels about it. This drabble can be written from either your OC's POV, or another character's.

Entries must be no more than 700 words and you may enter two drabbles each.

It was dark outside—too dark. I felt it pressing on my eyeballs from every direction, effectively making me feel blind. Draco was within arms reach, but I was unable to make out his features. There was no sound to hide our secret rendezvous; it seemed as if all had gone silent for us. Even my whisper seemed to echo into the night.

This had happened too many times before, but it never would again. It was morally ambiguous to marry one man and desire his son. I had been raised differently—to do what I needed to be on top, and marrying Lucius would be just that. Gallivanting off with his son would put me just where I didn’t want to be, back in the rags of my former home. I was so close to having the riches, that I felt a sudden pang of insanity ring through my head. What was I doing here?

“We have done nothing wrong, Lucy,” he retorted, the smirk evident in his sweet voice.

In response to my silence, he slid his body closer to mine, wrapping his hand around my lower back and pulling me to him. Desire rushed through my veins, shunting my good intentions away and replacing them with raw need to touch him. He grasped my face too firmly between his fingers and thumb, pulling my mouth to his. It was too easy to forget everything when he did this to me. I felt his cold fingers creep under my blouse in the back, and I was suddenly pulled back to reality.

Knowing with every fiber of my being that I had to do this, I pulled myself away from him. “I’m sorry, Draco, this is wrong. I am to marry your father, and I will do just that. He loves me—”

“Father loves nothing but power,” Draco spat, his arm recoiling from around me. “He will not give you anything I can.”

I could see the mad gleam in his eyes. Apparently, his face was still only inches from mine.

“How can you do this?” he whispered, his fierce façade suddenly dropping away as quickly as it had come. I choked back the rising cry from my throat and shut my eyes. It should be so easy to throw away simple lust.

“Like this,” I replied as I turned and walked away.

The dehydrated grass crunched under my feet as I stepped lightly back to the house. There was still no sound as I came around the bend of trees and saw light glowing from the windows. Just as I was about to open the back door, I heard commotion inside. It sounded like someone had dropped a plate and let it clatter to the ground. Needing to avoid any sort of confrontation, I shrunk away from the alight door into the shadows of a nearby tree. Hidden from the world, I rested my head against the rough bark and finally stopped to think.

I had come here as a prize. My parents had heard Mr. Malfoy had recently lost his wife. Being the conspirators they were, a plan was concocted and I was shipped to the Malfoy Mansion after an agreement had been reached. I would be the new Mrs. Malfoy, but I was young enough to be the man’s daughter.

He was charming and suave, I must admit, but so was his son, the boy who was my age and still had hopes and dreams and desires, who still wanted to grow. Instead, I was stuck with the man who was stuck in his life, and not in need of growth and change. I was more than happy to oblige my parents’ wishes, this would bring my family more wealth and power than ever imagined, even if Lucius had hit rough times.

That was exactly why I must stay away from Draco, the one who could grow with me, who was still passionate about life. If I were to run away with him, I would have been auctioned off for no reason besides simple love. I would stay with Lucius, even if it meant throwing away my dreams.

Two hours he’d been waiting. Normally, he was a fairly deep sleeper. Tonight, however, something had awakened him and he’d opened eyes to an empty bed. Now he sat here in the living room they shared, in the armchair by the fire. And he watched the door, simply watched it like a hawk, obviously waiting for something.

Waiting for her.

Finally, he heard her scrambling on the doorstep and he tipped his wand so that the light went out and he was bathed in a sudden, pitch black darkness. He heard the door creak open and the familiar click of stilettos on hardwood. Eyes adjusted to the darkness now, he watched her outline close the door quietly behind her, but it wasn’t until she turned around again that he lit his wand once more.

The surprise was evident across her features for only a nanosecond before it was gone, to be replaced by amused pleasure. As she stepped closer he could see her dirty-blonde hair hastily pulled up in into a messy ponytail, whips of long, flyaway locks framing her face. Her eyes had lost their momentary shock and had quickly settled into calm contentment, as though she were happy to see him. The dark brown was still incredibly alluring, as it always was, despite his anger. Her robes did not look out of place but for the rumbled look of them, the way garments that have been tossed and forgotten on the floor never lose their wrinkles. Yet still he felt himself aroused by her, and he wondered why she never seemed to want him.

She smiled at him then as if their meeting in the half-dark at three in the morning was a regular routine. “What are you doing, sitting here in the dark? I didn’t think you’d be up at this hour.” She spoke with an air of nonchalance and confidence, again as if this were nothing out of the ordinary.

Without missing a beat she answered in a sure and steady tone, “I went out for walk. I wasn’t gone long, half an hour at most.”

Rabastan laughed softly, she was so good at lying. He would give her that. He stood up swiftly and was right in front of her, so close he could feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. “Do not lie to me, Honor,” he hissed in her ear. “Two hours you were gone. Who is he?”

She turned her head up to look at him, a maddening smile playing across her lips. “Was it really two hours? I must have lost track of the time.”

Roughly, Rabastan shoved his wand underneath her chin, tilting her head back though her eyes never left his. Still, she never flinched and the smile never faltered. “You are my wife, Honor, and it is not for you to be out with another man.”

Finally, the smile faded, but it was only to be replaced by a smirk. Her brown eyes sparked with electricity as she replied, “I am not your wife. You get ahead of yourself, Rabastan. Not yet.”

In one swift moment, without removing the wand, Rabastan pulled out a knife, sharp and glistening. He put the cold side of it to her cheek as he whispered roughly, “You’re as good as. The arrangement has been set and you are my prize and my toy, not for the filthy hands of another.” He turned the blade so that the sharp edge rested on her skin, and then slowly he pulled his hand down. A trail of bright red blood followed the progress of the knife, staining her porcelain white skin. A thin cut, not deep, but still enough. “You will let me touch you, and you will tell me who he is. This will not go unpunished, for either of you.”

She looked defiantly into his dark eyes, again so arousing. “Not tonight, Rabastan.”

xox
nikki

"Through literacy you can begin to see the universe.
Through music you can reach anybody.
Between the two there is you, unstoppable."

Mikhailae stormed back towards the Gryffindor dormitory. Her hands were shaking in silent fury, and hot tears prickled behind her eyes, but she refused to cry. Mikhailae couldn’t believe it. How dare she?

More importantly, how could he?

Oh how she hoped they were all following her, so she could give them a real piece of her mind. She wasn’t going to roll over and watch as Melissa did her vicious thing, yet again. Melissa had picked the wrong girl to try and screw over this time.

Someone grabbed her arm and in an instant Mikhailae had turned, her wand at the person’s throat.

“Mikhailae, wait!” Sirius cried, throwing up his arms.

Mikhailae’s eyes narrowed but she lowered the wand. Sirius looked relieved – until Mikhailae’s hand connected with his face, with and extremely satisfying smack.

“Bastard,” she hissed. Over his shoulder, three people had appeared; James, Lily and Melissa ‘Please slap me!’ Thompson.

Oh how dearly Mikhailae would love to wipe that smug smile of Melissa’s face! But she controlled herself...barely. Nevertheless, her hands were still shaking. A small swell of satisfaction rose in her chest at the sight of Sirius’ red cheek.

Melissa took a step back and Sirius flung an arm out. Melissa’s smile returned.

“Like I said, Mikhailae, I really am sorry for the way this turned out. It’s not my fault I’m just so desirable.”

“You are the opposite of desirable,” Mikhailae snarled, “You vile, awful – You know what? You can have him.”

And she turned and stormed in the opposite direction. Melissa looked taken aback by her sudden back-flip.

Lily, too, was furious. “I knew you had no standards, but I didn’t know that you’d stoop so low,” she said scornfully. Mikhailae felt a vindictive pleasure – Lily would never betray her.

For the second time, however, Sirius caught her arm before she could escape.

“Get off me,” she snarled through clenched teeth.

“Mikhailae, please, I’m sorry,” he pleaded.

“Yeah, well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?” Mikhailae said bitterly. “How could you? I knew – I knew this would happen.” She’d been so reluctant to give in to the, admittedly, irrepressible feelings they both apparently had for each other. “I thought I meant more to you. I guess I thought wrong.”

“Just let me tell you my version. Are you really going to throw away our friendship, without even giving me a chance to tell you what happened?”

“I saw what happened.”

One minute she’d been dancing with James. She’d looked over her shoulder to see where Sirius was, only to spot him dancing with Melissa. She’d said something and he’d leaned down and the next thing Mikhailae knew, she was watching their lips meet.

She looked up at Sirius’s beautiful face. Was she willing to throw away five years of friendship? Look what he did to you. He’s hurt you. More than you’ll ever admit.

“I’ll talk to you alone. Without the audience,” she said, glaring at Melissa. Then, she turned and walked away.

My Entries

Drabble One:
OC: Mimi Stewart
POV: Lily Evans
Words: 681

I woke up early Monday morning, like I always do. It was raining. I lay in bed for a moment listening to the pitter patter of the raindrops on the roof. I sat up and glanced around the room. Mary and Alice were still asleep, but Mimi’s bed was empty. That’s right; she said she would wake up early to write that essay she forgot about. Always the procrastinator. The thought reminded me of an insight I had had the other night, and I wanted to add it into my essay. I slid out of bed and reached for my essay where I had left it in my bag the night before. That’s odd. Did I leave it downstairs?

In the common room I found Mimi writing feverishly. “Mimi, did I leave my essay down here?” Mimi glanced up sharply.

“Um…yes, here it is. You left it on our table last night.” She handed me my essay and bent over her work again, her face hidden.

“Thanks. How’s yours coming? Here, let me see it.” I sat down across from her and slid her essay across the table. As I scanned it my stomach lurched. I glanced from her essay on the table to mine in my hand and back again. “Mimi…” I looked at her. She was staring at the table guiltily. I felt my face getting hot. “Did you copy my essay?”

“Mimi, how could you have been so thoughtless?” I demanded, standing up. “What, you didn’t think McGonagall would notice two identical essays? You’re lucky I caught you before you got us both expelled!”

“She wouldn’t expel us just for—”

“Don’t change the subject! What were you thinking?” The only logical conclusion I could come to was that her brain took several hours longer to wake up in the morning than the rest of her.

“Stop it, Lily!” Mimi jumped up so quickly that her chair fell backwards, hitting the stone floor with a clatter. I flinched, startled at her sudden anger. “You don’t need to make me feel any more stupid than I really am.”

“I have the right to make you feel as stupid as I please,” I corrected her. “And anyway, it’s not that you’re stupid; you’re not. You’re just thoughtless and distracted. You’re actually really smart—”

“Don’t give me that, Lily!” she interrupted angrily. “I’m not really smart; you’re really smart. You tell everyone they’re smart. We can’t all be smart. Some of us are just stupid, all right?”

She’s changing the subject again, I thought. “Mimi, what are you talking about?”

“You tell everyone they’re smart, and it’s just not true, Lily! You told Peter he was smart the other day. I mean, it’s not that Peter’s not smart, he is, but—now I’m doing it too. You know what?” she shouted as I stared, taken aback. “I don’t care! Peter’s stupid, all right? Peter’s stupid, I’m stupid, every—”

“Who’s stupid?” Mimi spun around. I looked toward the voice and came face to face with none other than Peter Pettigrew, looking slightly groggy and quite a bit affronted. Oh, dear Lord. I sighed and put a hand to my head.

Mimi gave a frustrated sort of roar and grabbed her bag. She stormed out of the portrait hole. As she stalked past I heard her mutter something about “letting perfect Lily finish her perfect essay.” I rolled my eyes and glared after her.

“What was that about?” asked Peter bemusedly.

“Don’t look at me,” I answered irritably. “I will not attempt to make excuses for her. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an essay to finish.” I plopped myself down at the nearest table and whipped a quill out of my bag. I didn’t look up as I heard Peter shuffling back up the stairs. When he was gone I looked up and stared out of the window at the gray world outside. What a glorious Monday morning this is, I thought gloomily.

“Mimi, you’ve made us late again!” Lily grabbed my hand and ran down the hall toward the Charms classroom. I trotted along behind her, trying to keep up.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I began, before Lily skidded to a halt at a corner and I almost ran into her. “What--” I started to ask, but Lily shushed me. It was then that I heard a familiar voice.

“You really ought to watch where you’re going, Mudblood.” At first I thought we were the ones being addressed, and I opened my mouth to retaliate. Lily shook her head and peeked around the corner. I stood on tiptoe and looked over her.

I felt a flash of anger at what I saw. A tiny Hufflepuff first-year girl was sprawled on the floor surrounded by the contents of her book bag. Lucius Malfoy was leaning against the wall behind her, his foot jutting out into the corridor. He smirked at her as she sat up and began hurriedly collecting her things. His friends snickered. The girl kept her head down, but I heard her choke and knew she was crying.

“I said, you ought to watch where you’re going,” Malfoy repeated with a sneer. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Apologize, my arse! I thought angrily, pushing past Lily into Malfoy’s line of sight. “You’re the one who ought to apologize, Malfoy!” I said as Lily gasped and winced. “Can’t you find someone your own size to aggravate?”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows in amusement. I glared. “Can’t you pick a fight with someone your own size?” he said mockingly, stepping closer so that he towered over me. “Otherwise, it can only turn out worse for you.”

“Is that a threat?” I replied loudly. The Hufflepuff girl was watching us worriedly. Lily stepped forward.

“Leave it, Mimi. We’ll be in trouble for being late as it is. Here, sweetheart, let me help you.” Lily stooped and helped the girl gather her things. I continued to stare at Malfoy. He no longer looked amused.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mudblood?” he asked coldly, motioning to his cronies. My eyes flickered to them for a moment as they moved to surround me, but I was too angry to care.

“I don’t want be here, no,” I spat. “And if you and your snakey little friends would mind your own business, I wouldn’t have to.”

“Mimi, let’s just go,” said Lily as the Hufflepuff girl ran off with a murmured “thank you” to Lily.

“Yeah, go, Stewart, if you know what’s good for you,” said another boy whose name I didn’t know.

“Don’t you talk to me that way,” I snapped, my voice rising. “You think you can do whatever you please just because you’re a big, bad Slytherin. And if no one else will show you your place, then I will!”

I would have punched him, I just know it. As it happened, however, we were interrupted by a very angry Professor McGonagall. “Miss Stewart! Mr. Malfoy! What is the meaning of this?” Lily sighed in relief. I scowled and was silent.

“Stewart threatened me, Professor,” said Malfoy smoothly. I laughed.

“Threatened you, my—”

“Enough, Miss Stewart, thank you,” said the professor sternly. “If the both of you cannot restrain yourselves by virtue of your own maturity—” She glared fiercely at Malfoy, who was four years older than me and a Prefect. “—then perhaps a detention and five house points each will serve to restrain you in the future. Now, don’t you have classes to get to?”

I continued to fume at Malfoy’s back as he and his goons slithered away down the corridor. Lily tugged my arm. “Come on, Mimi!” I let her lead me away as Professor McGonagall’s stern eyes followed us out of sight.

My OC(s): Aidan and Nadia, created especially for this challenge, and as of yet lacking a surname. POV is Aidan.Warnings: Violence, swearing, racism, implied sexual situations. Wow, I've never written a drabble that needed any of those before... All warnings are slight, though. Please, the views expressed by my character as far as Asians go is totally the opposite of my own. They were chosen BECAUSE they were horrible, that's the whole point.Word Count: 700

My twin sister is... temperamental. Nadia can fly off the broomhandle at the slightest excuse, as I know only too well. I do try not to provoke her, honestly I do, but the amount of times I’ve heard “Aidan! Stop winding up your sister!” is astronomical, though you wouldn’t think it, what with her always being the one throwing the punches... I suppose our mother knows us only too well, too.

Oh, that’s my name, by the way. Aidan. Nadia in reverse, you may notice. Cute, huh? Well, that’s what my parents thought. Guess they didn’t know how prophetic that was... Most people comment we look nothing alike, her being fair-skinned and blonde and me olive and chocolate-haired, but that’s only scratching the surface.

We do love each other, I guess, but we’re just so different, and there’ve been sparks flying ever since I remember. Sometimes literally. Nothing, though, as serious as yesterday’s events.

Nadia had a friend over. A girl she’s known seven years, since our first day at Hogwarts in fact, and who shares her dorm in the Gryffindor Tower. I don’t know what they were doing all morning, probably gossipping up in Nad’s room, but at around midday they deigned to descend and invite me out to play Quidditch with them and the girl from next door – to ‘make up the numbers’. Usually I’d bow out of anything involving physical activity – not my forte – but I’m a fair Keeper, so I agreed.

It was embarrassing. Like I said, I like to think I’m not a bad Keeper – but this friend of Nadia’s scored goal after goal after goal single-handedly, even managing to appear bored about the whole thing. Contrary to my sister’s beliefs, I do have some pride, and managed to battle it out until the girl announced it was time for her to take the Floo home.

She had already said her goodbyes and disappeared inside to use the fireplace by the time I’d clambered off my broomstick. Laughing, Nadia came over and punched me playfully on the arm.

I had, in fact, but managed to pull my face into wide-eyed surprise. ‘Oh, that was Yong Lee? Gee, I’d always thought the famous Lee was a guy. She should grow her hair long – how else are you meant to tell Chinese males from females?’ Nadia hissed furiously, and I smiled inwardly that my taunts had such an effect. ‘Or did you make the same mistake, Nads? Think you had a boyfriend, did you? What exactly were you up to all morning, huh?’

She snapped. ‘Firstly, she’s Korean, and secondly, Aidan, you are such a prick!’ she yelled, launching herself at me. I grabbed for my wand, deflecting her fists with ease. ‘You – racist – dirty-minded – horrible – ’ she paused for breath, golden curls flopping from her messy ponytail. I lowered my wand, grinning unashamedly. ‘PRICK!’

Her punch caught me on the nose before I had time to raise my wand again. The blow stung; not only because my sister has a mean right hook, but also because I hadn’t let her actually land one on me for years. So far, I’d always been able to avoid them with words, dodges, and since coming of age, magic.

We stared at each other, me dazedly touching the blood as it streamed from my nostrils, her still panting but now gazing at me with something akin to hopelessness in her eyes.

‘You know what?’ she whispered, hands by her sides, ‘There are other people in Gryffindor with siblings in your House. They always say, ‘they weren’t as cruel before joining Slytherin’, but I can’t use that excuse. You’ve always been like this – I’m not talking about just this, you’re always – ruthless and just plain cunning.’

I smirked. ‘Cunning. A Slytherin. You don’t say? C’mon Nadia, you blow up at me every week.’

I walked away, chuckling outwardly but grimacing on the inside. Because Nadia is temperamental, but she’s never – ever – said a bad word to me in anything less than a yell.

Ami looked around the fifth year girl’s dormitory. The four other Gryffindor girls were sound asleep. She took a deep breath and pointed her wand at the window. It opened silently. She put her wand back into her robe pocket and put her leg out the window. She felt the ledge of the common room window below her. She grabbed her broomstick and slithered the rest of the way out of the window.

Once she was on the windowsill, she took her wand out again. She mounted her broomstick and pointed her wand at the window as it closed just as silently as it opened. Ami bent low over her broomstick and shot off. She smiled as she felt the familiar feeling of the wind on her face and messing up her hair. She slowed down as she came nearer to the Quidditch Pitch. It looked like there was already someone at the stadium, flying around and doing complicated tricks. Ami landed her broom on one side of the pitch under the goal posts.

“Oi!” she yelled to the person flying above her. She could now see that it was a boy, most likely the same age as her. He dropped the Quaffle and Ami caught it skilfully.

The boy landed. “Yes.” he said, clearly irritated that he had been interrupted. “Oh, it’s you.” he realized, looking at Ami. “What are you doing out here?”

“What are you doing out here?” Ami asked him back.

“That’s for me to know.” The boy said to her, smiling. He ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Now, if you’ll give me my Quaffle back, I can continue practicing.” Not waiting for an invitation, he took the Quaffle and took off again. Ami mounted her broom and followed him.

Ami took a small, white, snitch-sized ball out of her pocket. She let go out of it, but instead of dropping, it hovered in mid-air. Ami reached out for it, and it darted a little bit farther away from her. She shot after it, laughing.

“Ami! We have to leave!” The boy yelled to her as she shot past him.

Ami didn’t hear him; she had spotted the ball near the ground. She dived, and stuck her right hand out. Flawlessly, she grabbed the small ball.

“Wonderful catch, Miss Song.” A new voice said. Ami looked up, knowing who would be there.

“Hello sir.” she mumbled, looking down.

The boy landed beside her. “Good morning Professor Doros.”

“Potter, Song, come with me please.” Professor Doros told them.

“It’s your fault, you came out here!” James hissed to Ami as they followed behind Professor Doros.

“My fault? How was I supposed to know he would come?” Ami hissed back.

“If you had listened to me, I was trying to tell you that he was coming.” James spat out at her.

“You could’ve said something before that!” Ami whispered, wishing she could yell at him. “But no! Mr James Fatheaded Potter thought he’d get me in trouble!”

James shook his head, smiling.

“Oh, Jamesie can’t even fight back because he knows I’m right.” Ami taunted James loudly.

Professor Doros turned around and looked at Ami.

“Sorry Professor.” Ami said, looking down again.

Professor Doros opened the doors to the castle and led James and Ami into his office.

“You will both serve a week of detentions with me. 100 points will also be taken from Gryffindor.”

“Yes sir.” James and Ami chanted together.

“You two can go up to your dormitories. Don’t let me see you out after hours again.”

“Yes sir. Come on James.” Ami said, taking James by the arm and leaving the office.

“Look what you’ve done! You just lost us the House Cup AND the Quidditch Cup! You realise that the last Quidditch game of the season is the day after tomorrow!”

“It’s not like I was the only one out there.” Ami shot at him. “You were out there too!”

“But at least I knew Professor Doros would be coming!” James shouted at her. “The whole house will hate us! Not to mention most of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff too! At least the Slytherins will like us.”

Title: For the DamnedWord Count: 700 -phew!-Warnings: Mild ViolencePOV: Dante, Original Character

The full moon is shining brightly in the September skies tonight. This is the night for the damned.

For me, it is a cursed night because this is the only true light I receive in my immortal bounded soul. The wolves dance tonight; killers stalk their prey; the nocturnal awake.

This night is reserved for us, not them. This night is reserved for the monsters, the monsters that stalk your nightmares. How dare mere mortals disrupt our night with their nefarious plans!

They all apparate except for one mere soul. He’s mine.

I slowly manoeuvre out of the brush. I can hear every step that he makes: crunch, crunch. Darkness doesn’t hide you; you’re still vulnerable.

I grab my wand in my back pocket. It slides easily out of my pocket and into my hand. Ah, my good old friend.

I mutter, “Confringo,” but at that moment, the Death Eater halts and my spell narrowly misses him.

I shoot another spell at him, but he shouts, “Protego!”

And now the fight begins.

The dazzling colours flash by too quickly, and I dodge them efficiently. I simply take one step to the right, to the left, up, or down, and I dodge his attacks.

It’s amazing the energy wizards waste while duelling. They flail their arms; they run; they exert more power than needed. Perhaps, though, why the wizard wastes energy is because he needs to survive. I’m dressed for the kill.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” he calls out. I disengage his last spell, and the world creeps into eerie silence.

I see him in the distance, His face is gleaming with sweat, and he smiles crookedly at me.

“Who are you?” I call back.

He chuckles silently. “Why? So you can claim revenge after you lose tonight?”

“Perhaps,” I scoff. Does he not realise that I, a five hundred plus vampire, has had plenty of duelling experience?

“Well then, you have the honour of duelling Antonin Dolohov. And you would be?”

“A monster,” I respond, and I shoot a spell towards him that he deflects. The duel restarts once more.

More shattering pieces of light unfold as Latin words are disregarded. I falter in my step, and I realise that it is too late. I see his wand raised and the green light that comes hurtling towards me. I am defenceless.

It hits me and pummels me to the ground, my wand slipping out of my grip. First numbness consumes me, but then I contort in pain. The spell tries to kill me when I cannot be killed.

The pain recedes, and I manage to get to my feet, and he looks stunned, scared. “Who are you?” he frantically asks.

“I told you already. I’m a monster,” I repeat, revealing a malicious smile and a set of razor sharp fangs. As I stand there, though, I realise I am without a wand. I look quickly behind me to retrieve it, but as I turn around, Dolohov is in front of me, his wand alit.

I yelp in pain and immediately drop to the dirt ground, searching for my wand. I hear him kick it, and I am truly defenceless. The light burns!

“So you’re a vampire freak, huh?” he shouts at me. “Well, I’m going to make you enjoy this.”

He then sets my back on fire as a loud crack echoes in the background. I scream, but no one can hear me nor save me.

Who is my saviour? Aid me! I see my life flash by in clips. It’s ending. I’m dying, dying…

I clear my mind from the pain, trying to save myself. I know there is a lake by, and I muster the strength to get there. But I’m fading, fading…

I manage to get to the lake, and I plunge into it. Relief rushes through my body as the fire quickly dies down. I go back to being an animated corpse as I sink. I look up to see the full moon shining down brightly through the water as though an angel is with me.

But an angel is not here. This is the night for the damned. It is time to celebrate.